


Damage Control

by surreallis



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-05
Updated: 2010-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:19:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreallis/pseuds/surreallis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe next time will be the last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damage Control

She can feel it coming all week. One too many bad cases and then one too many occasions when she turns and finds his eyes on her. He doesn't look away when she catches him, and she knows.

One late day and she's stirring sugar into her coffee when he leans down over her, one hand resting on the desk and the other sliding onto the back of her neck. His voice in her ear, "Let's take a break." His breath against her skin makes her shiver. His thumb brushes through the small hairs on her nape.

She feels that familiar ripple of excitement, and she tries to tamp it down, because one of them should try to put boundaries down. She wonders at how he's so much more willing to risk it when he has so much more to lose.

"Not in the crib," she says, and her voice sounds wet and a little rough.

He's quiet for a moment but she waits him out. Not in the crib. Not anymore. Not in the one place that if they're caught everything will explode and nothing will be salvageable.

His thumb just keeps moving. His fingertips slip under the collar of her shirt. "Where?"

They used to be neutral about this, but that's long since gone by the wayside. "Mine."

He says nothing and backs off. She sighs.

+

She leaves the door unlocked, turns the lights out, goes to bed. She could stop this if she wanted to.

If.

She hears him come inside and lock the door behind him. She turns away from her bedroom door in the darkness. Silence is the rule. Talking would mean it's… something else. They talk during the day, sometimes at night when they aren't doing… this.

She hears the brush of his clothes, smells the faint remnant of the soap he uses. And then he's sliding onto the bed behind her, peeling the sheet down, pressing himself up against her back. He's naked and warm and already half hard, and it's startling and comforting and arousing.

His arm slips around her waist and then he's pulling her over, his mouth finding hers eagerly. He kisses like he hunts bad guys: with a single-minded intensity that can be overwhelming if you're not prepared for it. She runs her nails through his hair and eases her thigh against his erection. He breathes faster, deeper.

He slides his fingers between her legs and his mouth moves down her neck, over her breasts. His tongue drawing in one nipple then the other. She arches a bit. He knows her. He slows then, fingers stroking, mouth dragging, and he pushes into her hand when she grabs his cock. She can't even think.

She's on her side again, his chest against her back, when his fingers curl into her thigh and he pushes inside of her from behind. His mouth sucks at her nape and she has to bite her lip to keep from moaning. He doesn't censor himself. He moves in and out of her, muscles flexing against her back, and his breath comes hard, working up into low groans.

The pleasure is washing out through her in waves, and she pulls his hand over her hip, between her legs, and he rubs her clit with two fingers. She barely needs it. She's moving with him, but she falters and then gasps and then she's coming, hard, and it feels so good that she doesn't even care when his name comes out of her mouth on a low, long moan.

He swallows wetly behind her ear, and then he's pushing her over onto her stomach and thrusting deep. She moves with him again, even as her head stops spinning, and he's fucking her hard enough that she grabs handfuls of the sheets. He exhales and then his forehead presses against the back of her head as he groans and comes. His arms shake.

She's too languid in the aftermath. It's too hot under his body, and he's misted in sweat, but she doesn't want to move. When he finally slips to the side the air is too cold and she reaches for the mangled sheet. He doesn't move to get up or give her distance. His arm lies heavily across her back, his leg still covering hers.

"Fuck, Liv," he says, breathless and so, so quiet, against her nape. She feels his body relaxing into sleep already.

It's been this way, since they started including her place in the list of acceptable locations. He sleeps longer and longer each time, before he leaves.

_Next time. Next time will be the last._

It's a quiet lie. It doesn't even keep her awake.


End file.
